On the Eve of Battle
by Celestially
Summary: In the hours leading up to Ilos, Garrus attempts to combat silence with conversation, and Shepard takes this opportunity to teach Garrus one last lesson. - Garrus and Fem!Shep friendship with a hint of something more.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **My first _Mass Effect_ fic. Go easy on me, guys. I'm purposefully alluding to in-game dialogue and sometimes directly quoting it, but recontextualizing it and otherwise using it for my own purposes. Because it's more fun that way.

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You had to be blind to not notice the mood that the Commander had been in since Virmire. She had always been a hard woman, but not without passion and humor. Grief seemed to have seized her with a particular ferocity that made her uncompromising demeanor more uncompromising, and her dark sense of humor even darker. She was throwing herself into this mission, allowing herself—and them, naturally—no room for dalliance. The quest to find Saren had always been of great importance, so naturally she was focused now that they knew the location of the Conduit. Those who didn't know any better would say that she was determined to stop him. But they knew her, and they knew that she was focusing on the mission as a distraction.

They all knew that she had been close to Alenko, but clearly they had underestimated how close.

With the ship en route to the Mu Relay, Shepard's remaining squad members sat at a table they had set up in the cargo bay. Even Liara had opted to join them rather than hiding in her room behind the med bay, and surely that meant something. The quiet asari's presence was somewhat soothing; it felt nice to have the team together in what could be their final moments. But there was an empty sixth chair at the head of the table. Whether it was meant for Kaidan or for the Commander, no one could say.

They sat in a terse silence unbefitting of a group of mutually respected teammates; they were unsure of what to do. Garrus hasn't expected raucous drinking and card games and laughter, but anything would have been better than awkward stares and the hum of the Normandy. They were all thinking the same thing: this was the last mission, the final confrontation with Saren. After so many successes, they had grown overconfident as a team, and had forgotten that the mission could be fatal. Kaidan had reminded them of that.

T-minus four hours and thirty-seven minutes until the jump.

Garrus, for his part, felt like it had all gone too quickly. The Council had informed them of the endangered salarian team not long after they had left Noveria. Shepard, despite her flippancy with the three holograms, agreed to immediately pursue that lead. At least she hadn't hung up on them this time. Garrus remembered the grin she had offered him as they climbed into the Mako—a familiar one that Ashley called a "shit-eating" grin, whatever that meant. It was the same grin she wore whenever she was ready to have an ass-kicking good time, and Garrus, always striving to impress her, did his best to offer one back.

Then it was the trip to the STG camp, Wrex's near-mutiny, the attack on the base, the conversation with Sovereign, some painful decisions, their fight with Saren, Kaidan's death, Liara's discovery, the confrontation with the Council, the lockdown, stealing the Normandy, which had been aided by Anderson, no less... It had all happened in such short succession that he hadn't had the opportunity to respond to any of it. Everything was stewing in his head, and he found himself feeling more emotionally drained than grief-stricken.

All of that, and Garrus had felt bad for thinking that Virmire was a beautiful planet. It reminded him of Palaven, of home. He supposed that home hadn't always been friendly either.

"We're fugitives on the run," Tali said, breaking the tension with her lively voice. It was a welcome change to the finger drumming and chair creaking that had permeated the past ten minutes. "Very exciting."

Liara smiled bemusedly. "I believe we have different definitions of the word 'exciting.'"

Amusingly, the theft of the Normandy was the one thing that could be considered fun out of everything that had happened lately, unless one counted watching Udina turn shades of red and purple in an attempt to keep his cool in front of the Council—and Garrus was almost sure that he did. Tali, despite her nervousness, was a little thrilled by the idea of being in trouble, and Liara, despite her protest, probably thought this was about as exciting as digging up a sacred Prothean toilet. Garrus, for his part, was pleased by the fact that the Commander had stuck it to the Alliance and Council, and Wrex agreed, if that krogan smirk meant anything.

The only one who Garrus had trouble reading was Ashley, but the human woman had been remarkably closed off since her short argument with Shepard in the comm room after Virmire. Still, there she was, sitting with the four token aliens on the Normandy, looking relaxed albeit distant. The fact that she chose to spend what could be her last hours alive with them meant something after she had spent so much time expressing her mistrust.

"I wonder what the Council would do to us if we got caught?" Tali asked, the nervous energy still obvious in the way she couldn't keep her hands still. Granted, quarians tended to be expressive in speech and body language and Tali was no exception, but her hands were as animated as they had been when they first met her and she was trying to prove her worth. And she had _really_ been trying.

"Then we give 'em a fight," Wrex answered with a snort. "Sound good to you, Quarian?"

Tali frowned. It wasn't something that could be seen through the helmet of her enviro-suit, but in the way her body seemed to tilt to the left. "I'm perfectly okay with fighting the Geth, Wrex, but the Council are another story. Just because the Quarians aren't Citadel anymore, it doesn't mean that I'd like to make an enemy of them."

"Technically, this is still an Alliance ship," Garrus pointed out. "And Ambassador Udina was the one to ground us, not the Council."

"Doesn't mean that the Council wants to see their pet Spectre running into the Terminus Systems with that murderous look on her face." Wrex somehow found that amusing and laughed to himself, but didn't elaborate.

"Still," Garrus continued, ignoring Wrex's deep chortles. "I'd sooner expect to be chased by the Fifth Fleet than by the Destiny Ascension."

Wrex shot Garrus a familiar look that roughly translated to, "You're ruining my fun, Turian," before growling and saying: "I don't care who's chasing us, as long as they don't stop us before we get to Saren."

"Do you think they will?" Liara asked. Her hands were calmly folded in her lap, but her voice betrayed some nervousness. "Our escape has been calm so far. If any ship were pursuing us, we wouldn't be sitting down here in the cargo bay and talking."

"It doesn't matter," Ashley said, finally speaking up for the first time since they set up their table. She still seemed guarded, but with a hint of the stubborn pride that made her Ashley Williams. "The Normandy is the fastest ship in the Alliance Fleet. If anyone tried to chase us, they wouldn't catch us."

"I overheard Joker complaining about how he wouldn't be able to test that," Liara added, laughing delicately. "Naturally, Shepard told him to stop complaining."

Garrus shook his head. "Either way, the Alliance wouldn't be stupid enough to chase us into Terminus Space. If they weren't planning on doing it for Saren, they won't do it for us."

"I'm not sure if I agree with you, Garrus," Tali said uncertainly. "You saw how Udina started twitching and turning purple when Shepard called him ... I don't even know what she called him. My translator glitched."

"And you think that's enough to risk sparking galactic war?"

"He _is_ rather irritable," Liara supplied.

"I guess I can't disagree with you on that point," Garrus agreed. He still didn't buy into the idea that either fleet would give chase, but it didn't seem as though he'd be able to convince the others.

Earlier, he had worried, just as they were doing now. He had asked her if the Alliance, or the Council, or _someone_ would chase them all the way to Ilos. The Commander had turned to look at him, determination screwing up her face, and said: "They won't," with the upmost conviction. It had certainly assuaged any of _his_ doubts.

"Vakarian's right," Ashley said, leaning forward in her seat. It seemed as though she was getting comfortable with them, and Garrus would be lying if he said that it didn't please him—particularly the fact that she had just agreed with him. "We're mutineers, but ... we'll be fine for now. I just hope stopping Saren will earn Shepard enough brownie points to balance out all the lip she's given the higher-ups."

"Shepard's crazy," Wrex concluded, folding his arms. "But sometimes crazy's the best way to go."

None of them seemed to disagree, or at least felt like arguing the point, and so they fell into another strange silence.

"Keelah, she should be with us," Tali suddenly said, once again interrupting the awkward pause before it could drag on for too long. "We could die in a few hours and she—"

"We could have died the entire time," Wrex interrupted, a little dismissive in tone.

They all thought the same thing: "And Kaidan did," though none of them gave voice to that thought. Ashley squirmed in her seat—out of everyone seated at the table, she was unsurprisingly taking his death the hardest.

"She's in the CIC," Liara said, deftly steering them away from another awkward silence. Were they so messed up or on edge that they couldn't even have a basic conversation? They were supposed to be friends, or at least as friendly as five soldiers from different races on a quest to save the galaxy could be. "I knew she had declined the invitation to join us, but wanted to see if I could convince her regardless."

"So, she's _working_?" Tali asked, almost a little affronted.

"Yes." Liara flushed and shook her head. Garrus guessed that the asari's painfully obvious crush on the Commander hadn't completely faded away after the little showdown with Kaidan he had only heard about. "I couldn't persuade her to abandon her duties and spend time with us."

"If that's what she wants to do, then let her do it," Ashley said. From anyone else it might have been dismissive or insensitive, but from the human it was simply a statement. Besides, given her last interaction with the Commander, it wasn't so unreasonable that Ashley would want to give her space.

"But it's not right," Tali protested, leaning forward in her seat. "We're a team."

"And she's our commanding officer. She can do whatever she wants." Ashley shook her head. "If she needs her space, let her have it."

"You aren't worried about her?" Liara asked. Garrus recognized that expression—he had seen it countless times on asari who were trying to manipulate people or get them to admit something. There was more to their shy little scientist than met the eye.

Wrex snorted. "The Commander's strong. She can take care of herself."

"Of course I'm worried," Ashley admitted. Scoped and dropped. He had to congratulate Liara for that later. "She chose me over Alenko. Maybe it was the smarter move from a tactical standpoint, but..." She trailed off, and none of them pressured her to continue.

"I don't get why you females spend so much time talking about feelings," Wrex said, scoffing. "It's pointless."

"Technically, asari are not female, Wrex," Liara pointed out, straightening her spine. "We are a mono-gendered—"

"You wear makeup, talk about your feelings, and have those fleshy mounds that females from some species have. You're a female."

Garrus didn't bother to hide his laughter when he saw the stunned look on the women's faces; leave it to Wrex to come up with a moderately offensive way of categorizing the sexes. He half-expected the krogan to turn towards him and suggest that they head off, shoot things with guns, and drink copious amounts of alcohol while talking about past sexual conquests. In fact, he half-expected it because Wrex had more or less suggested this not too long ago.

The proposition had surprised him, if only because it meant that Wrex was willing to give this turian a chance. What surprised him even more was when Shepard had looked at them with that shit-eating grin of hers and asked: "Can I come too?" It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was easy to forget that she was tougher than her tiny human female form would imply.

Of course, by laughing aloud, he also found himself on the receiving end of glares from three of the five strongest women he had ever had the pleasure of serving with. The other two were Commander Shepard and a turian recon agent from his time in the service. The recon agent had been quite memorable—no. No, he was not going to think about sex when he was moments away from having a shotgun shoved in his face.

"Is something funny, Garrus?" Tali asked, her accented voice flat and dangerous.

"...what?" he responded, almost stuttering. Spirits. They were heading towards their final confrontation with a dangerous turian Spectre, his army of geth, and his giant mind controlling ship that was secretly from an ancient race of synthetics bent on destroying all organic life, and he was nervous under the gaze of three of his female crewmates. He had to hand it to the "fairer" sex sometimes.

"What was that, _Turian_?" Shit, Williams only called him that when she was making fun of him or about to kick his ass. Neither seemed like a good time right now.

"I was just saying that I was going to go find Shepard," Garrus said. It was the first thing that came to mind, and from the way that the women seemed to soften, it seemed as though he had made the right choice. "Tali's right: she should be here. It's just not a party without the Commander."

"No, it's not," Wrex agreed, though he looked like he wanted to strangle Garrus for abandoning him—even if it was to get Shepard. Garrus felt a little like he was breaking their unspoken non-human man code, but it was a code he was willing to break, given the circumstances.

"Right," Garrus said decisively, his chair scraping backwards as he stood. "Hopefully I'll be back with the Commander shortly."

They offered no words as he made his retreat to the elevator. He could only hope that, when he returned later, it would be to something other that silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **And so we continue! Garrus ventures up to the CIC to retrieve Shepard, and, unsurprisingly, things continue to be awkward. Meanwhile, I bet the others are having an awesome party downstairs now that the stick-in-the-ass turian is gone.

(nope)

The final part should be coming tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest. Please offer concrit if you have any—I plan on writing a bit more in this fandom, and I'd like to know if I'm doing it right!

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Garrus found her in the CIC, just as Liara had said. To his dismay, Shepard was not making small talk with her crew, but deep in conversation with Pressly about something that definitely had to do with their mission. If the look on Pressly's face was of any indication, then the XO wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts before the end. Garrus couldn't blame him.

It wasn't long before Pressly spotted him lingering near the stair door, and waved him over with an uncharacteristically enthusiastic: "Officer Vakarian!" Garrus knew that the unexpected friendliness was in part because he was going to be used as a distraction for Pressly's escape, but he had to admit that the XO had warmed up to the alien crewmates considerably since the beginning of the mission.

Shepard, for her part, shot Garrus a strange look as he approached the two humans. Ordinarily she would greet him with a smirk, or, if she were in a more serious mood, a nod. Instead, her expression was a strange combination of annoyed and completely blank. He wasn't necessarily an expert on human facial expressions, but his time both in C-Sec and on the Normandy had taught him quite a bit about human non-verbal cues. This expression was unnerving, to say the least.

"Need something, Vakarian?" Shepard asked rather curtly. It wasn't uncommon for her to address him by his last name, but less than four and a half hours away from Ilos, it felt wrong.

"I wanted to talk to you before the mission, Commander," Garrus said, standing as straight as possible, the model of the perfect and obedient soldier.

It wasn't a lie: he had tried talking to her earlier, and she had brushed him off with a clipped: "I don't have time for this." But _this_ was a fantastic opportunity. He could accomplish three things at once: lure her away from the harried Pressly, get her to join them downstairs, and tell her what he'd been meaning to tell her since before Virmire. Overall, it was a fine plan—if she cooperated.

"Officer Pressly and I are in the middle of discussing logistics and tactics for the coming mission," Shepard explained, businesslike to the point of sounding annoyed. "We'll discuss this later."

Even as Pressly shot him a quick, pleading look, Garrus decided that this was bullshit, to borrow one of her favorite words. Shepard _hated_ plans, strategies, tactics, and all that—well, she didn't hate them so much as she generally improvised all those things. She had a brilliant tactical mind on the battlefield, barking orders to move behind this cover fire at this merc while overloading this other merc's shields, but she never wasted her time figuring any of it out ahead of time. She was far too impatient for any of that. She plowed through everything, not willing to wait for an answer to present itself. If blood needed to be shed to protect people and an alternative didn't immediately present itself, she wouldn't hesitate to shed it, though she was fiercely protective of her subordinates.

She always laughed about her role in the Skyllian Blitz. "Shit," she once told him, "I just did what I had to. I'm no better than the asshole in charge at Torfan. But he's called the Butcher, and I have the Star of Terra."

For the most part, he agreed with everything she had to say and nearly every choice she made. But this was one of the few areas where he had obediently listened to her even when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to defy her orders, or at least to argue the point. It was the only reason why Saleon had lived an extra thirty seconds, and why he never protested when she likened herself to the Butcher of Torfan, of all people. She was tough, but she wasn't _ruthless_.

But this was another story. Garrus wasn't going to let her use this façade of how she thought a commander was supposed to behave as a shield for her grief or frustration. She was a damn good commander in the first place, quirks and impatience and all. _This_ was below her.

So after months of blind obedience, of "Yes, Commander" and "No, Commander," he steeled himself and said: "I don't think that course is going to plot itself any better than it already has, Commander."

That earned him an eyebrow raise from Shepard, which he knew was on the road to a smirk. If he could at least get her to smirk tonight, then he would know that he had broken through to her. "Okay," she said, turning to Pressly even as she continued watching Garrus. It was a little unnerving, he had to admit. "I assume you can keep everything under control for now?"

"Yes, Commander," Pressly answered, the relief fairly obvious on his face.

"Then come with me, Vakarian." Shepard signaled for him to move with a quick tilt of her head, and made her way towards the stairs.

Garrus briefly nodded a goodbye to Pressly, who gratefully responded in kind. He was pretty sure that he had just scored some points with one of the more xenophobic members of the Normandy crew, and that, at the very least, was an accomplishment.

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She led him away from the CIC, not stopping in the mess as Garrus had expected, but going straight to the captain's quarters. Despite the fact that he was being invited in, he felt uncomfortable stepping into her quarters: humans seemed to value their privacy above all else, and the Commander was no exception. Entering her personal space seemed like a violation of her privacy, even though, like all turians, he was a bit unfamiliar with the concept himself. Strangely, he almost seemed to be developing a human self-consciousness about the issue. He had spent more amongst humans than he thought if their strange social mores were beginning to rub off on him.

"I've never seen your quarters before," Garrus said, hoping that talking about the issue would make the awkwardness go away. It didn't.

"Most haven't," Shepard responded, pressing a few buttons on her security console to open the door. "I tend to keep it that way."

"Ah," Garrus stated very plainly, following her into the room itself.

He hadn't been sure what to expect when entering her quarters, and he almost felt underwhelmed, despite the room's spaciousness. He had always assumed that humans were as finicky about customizing and personalizing their surroundings as they were their appearance, maintaining that strong sense of individuality. But Shepard's room seemed to be an extension of the rest of the ship, only with a human bed rather than a sleeper pod, several desks and tables, and a few personal effects. He saw a few picture frames on her desk, but it felt strangely impolite to stare, and he opted not to.

The door shut behind him.

"I don't exactly have an open-door policy with my quarters, which is actually a little uncommon in our military," Shepard continued, stepping all the way into the room. "I value having some time to myself at the end of the day, and in those cases I don't like to be disturbed." She placed her pistol on her desk, and Garrus suddenly felt a little alarmed. He almost never saw her without at least that pistol, and he suddenly felt as though she were baring her soul to him by putting her gun down.

"Are you okay?" Garrus asked, unaware that he had even uttered the words until it was too late.

Shepard stopped in her actions and fixed him with a strange look. "I'm fine. Why?"

Garrus shifted uncomfortably, standing in the middle of the room, unsure of where he was supposed to go. "You've been different lately," he explained. "We've all noticed."

She shifted her weight to one hip, crossing her arms. "It's close to the end. Of course I'm not going to be as cheerful as I usually am."

"No offense, Commander, but I don't know if I would ever use the word 'cheerful' to describe you."

Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"Unless my translator is glitching," he rushed, stammering slightly, "and 'cheerful' actually means something _other_ than happy and optimistic. That's a word I would associate with Tali, not with you."

"...point taken." Her face shifted minutely, and he could almost imagine a smirk pushing at the corner of her human lips.

He puffed up slightly knowing that he had managed to coax that little smirk out of her, normality slowly beginning to establish itself once more. It was strangely empowering, knowing that he had been able to influence her like that when he was always the one following _her_ orders.

Garrus had to admit that he didn't know the Commander particularly well—or, at least, no better than any of the other crewmen. She was very good about not favoring any particular squad member over another, and choosing which party to bring with her based on what she needed for the situation. It had allowed him the opportunity to witness each of them in combat, helping him to appreciate not only their individual fighting styles and abilities, but also how they all worked together. For all her bluntness and occasional "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude, Shepard sure knew how to build team unity.

Still, he found himself wondering how much he knew about her. Garrus had heard of her by reputation before they first met on the Presidium a few months earlier, having read her files as a part of his C-Sec investigation into Saren. She had recounted stories from her childhood as a military brat, from her days in basic, from various missions she had gone on before being assigned to the Normandy... But he couldn't help but wonder what the missing pieces were, what he would need to know to have a more complete image of Commander Shepard.

Hell, he couldn't even remember her first name, and he had read it in the report from Eden Prime not long ago.

Maybe this would give him some insight. Maybe, standing in her quarters, approximately four hours and fifteen minutes from Saren, he would get some answers.

"But I'm not just talking about the mission, Commander," Garrus continued.

Her lips pressed together, and he distantly wondered if Shepard could recognize his detective face, or if she was as clueless about turian facial expressions as he imagined she was. She had to have been joking about her staunch opinion that Councilor Velarn had been flirting with her, but it was hard to tell given her tendency to deflect anything Council-related with flippant humor.

"You've been different since..." he trailed off, somehow losing the nerve to speak when he saw the way her face changed. He wasn't sure what to make of the expression, but it was different.

"Since Virmire," she finished for him. "And Kaidan."

He nodded, and she sighed, pulling out her desk chair to slump gracelessly into the seat.

They remained there, frozen in time for a few moments before Shepard looked up at him expectantly. "Well? Are you going to sit, or what?"

His mandibles pressed tightly to his face, he moved towards the chair closest to her desk. "If you insist, Commander."

"Don't," she suddenly said, and Garrus stopped in his tracks. "No, not—_yes_, you can still sit." She made a small, exasperated noise. "But don't call me 'Commander.'"

"Why?" Garrus asked, frowning as he sat. "That _is_ your rank."

"It isn't if I've mutinied," Shepard pointed out, propping one elbow up on her desk. "And you've never shied away from calling me 'Shepard,' but you've been calling me 'Commander' ever since Virmire." She looked at him pointedly. "I'm not the only one acting differently."

He couldn't deny that. "Everyone's been a bit different since Virmire."

"Since Kaidan," Shepard supplied.

"Exactly," Garrus agreed. He felt a little like he had lost control of the conversation, but Shepard tended to have that effect on people. For all her bluntness and unwillingness to negotiate, you sure wanted to listen to her speak.

"Kaidan was a good soldier," she continued, looking down at her desk. "He'll be missed. It was a tough decision." She inhaled, and, as if she had made yet another decision, her resolve seemed renewed. She looked straight at him and said: "We'll move on."

The stunned look on Garrus' face must have been priceless, because her eyebrows shot up for a moment before furrowing deeply. He cleared his throat, hoping to regain his composure. "Even you, Com—Shepard?"

"I never said it would be _easy_," Shepard said with an intensity that he rarely saw off the battlefield. He had hit a nerve. "Kaidan is ... a loss, yes. But I'll get over it. We'll all get over it."

He was afraid of pressing the issue, but it was better that Shepard get it out of her system now than risk breaking down in the middle of their fight with Saren. The former Spectre wasn't necessarily above mind games, and it was possible that he would use the events of Virmire against her. Garrus didn't want to risk that. "Shepard—" he started, but she quickly cut him off.

"Do you want me to cry, Garrus?" she interrupted, the edge in her voice laced with utter exhaustion. "Do I need to break down and be weak? No." She shook her head. "I can't afford to do that—not as your commanding officer and _definitely_ not on this mission. Besides, I'm pretty sure it would just be awkward if I got all weepy on you."

Garrus almost told her that he wouldn't have minded the tears, but something told him that it wasn't a good idea. Instead, he opted for a simple: "Understood."

Unsurprisingly, they fell into a strange, uncomfortable silence. He almost laughed: they were being silent upstairs while the others were likely being silent downstairs. They may as well merge into one incredibly awkward group, twiddling thumbs and avoiding gazes until the end. A little over four hours until they reached the Conduit.

"Was that all you had to say?" Shepard asked, straightening a little as she spoke.

"No, actually," Garrus admitted, feeling a little sheepish. "I got a little side-tracked."

"I see." Shepard leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, but her tone seemed friendlier. He was a surprised by the change, actually, but he wouldn't question it. He'd do anything if it meant getting his usual hard-but-friendly Commander back. "Well, what's on your mind, Garrus?"

It was a bit embarrassing to actually say out loud, but if either of them died on Ilos... She needed to know. It was too important to him.

"Shepard," he started. "I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Shepard didn't seem offended, which was a good sign. But she did seem confused, and borderline uncomfortable. "Why?"

Garrus chuckled lightly. "Why shouldn't I? You got me off of the Citadel, brought me on the adventure of a lifetime, I get to help take down Saren... I think that sounds like a pretty good deal, don't you?"

"I wouldn't exactly call this mission 'fun,'" Shepard said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't think I didn't notice all those times you grinned while shooting a geth or a creeper or a merc. You enjoy this."

"Okay, I'll give you the geth and the mercs," she conceded, a hint of that shit-eating grin slowly starting to sneak back onto her face. "But the creepers? Only if you enjoyed those acid vomit baths."

"Well, they do get the more stubborn blood stains out of my armor," Garrus joked, but he turned serious again when he remembered that he wasn't finished. "I'm serious, though, Shepard. I've learned a lot from you—more than I ever could have learned holed up in C-Sec."

"I'm ... glad you benefitted from this," Shepard said, finally managing a small smile. Garrus was surprised to see that she was being utterly sincere; he decided that it was strange, but not unpleasant. Was this the real Commander Shepard? Was she too tired to put up any masks, be they severe or flippant? Or maybe he was privy to this side of her because he was in her quarters? Was this the Shepard Kaidan had gotten to know?

He was asking himself too many questions.

"I've decided that I'm going to reapply for Spectre training," he continued, noticing the approval in her eyes when he said that. "And if that doesn't work ... I don't know what I'll do. _Anything _other than C-Sec. I'm through with the red tape and politics; I have to take things into my own hands." He looked down, shaking his head. "My father will be furious, but I want to make a difference. Have to. Even if it means I'm standing alone."

"No."

Garrus glanced up at Shepard to find her staring back with a strange look on her face—another one that he was slightly unfamiliar with, and he cursed his still lacking ability to read human facial expressions. "'No,' what?" he asked. Was she asking him to stay? He would in a heartbeat, if she asked. He would follow her to hell and back.

"No," Shepard answered, "you need to go back to C-Sec."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Boy this one ended up being long. But I decided that I needed the time to establish Shepard's motives as well as Garrus' utter confusion.

You know the system for making Garrus a Paragon or Renegade kind of bugged me. You could make one kind of choice for the whole game, and then for the two "defining moments" swing the other way—in the case of my playthrough with this Shepard, I did so many Renegade things in front of him (he and Liara were my party of choice for Soldier Shep), and then told him not arrest Saleon and only to kill Saren if he forces my hand. He ended up wanting to go back to C-Sec, despite the fact that I'd been waving my gun around shooting people instead of solving problems for a good chunk of time as well. IMHO, Garrus would be really confused by a Paragade, but I didn't get the "uhhhh, thanks." (which is what I got during my Paragon playthrough. WHY.)

That's ultimately a lot of what I wanted to convey with this thing. A Shepard who lives in shades of gray is going to confuse the hell out of Mr. Black and White. And a Shepard who isn't even convinced by her own actions will confuse him even more. Whoops! I think things like that are interesting to explore.

This story is over, but I'd like to keep writing! As such, if you have any crits you'd like to make, please go ahead and do so—as I mentioned, this is my first _Mass Effect _fic, and I'm getting my feet wet in this world. Still, I hope you enjoy chapter 3!

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He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're smart, Garrus," Shepard continued, sitting ramrod straight. "We both know it, and there's no point in trying to deny it. You're smart, and C-Sec can use that. And you can use C-Sec."

Garrus opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when she shot him a sharp glance. So it seemed she was going into her Commander-teacher mode again. He supposed it was expected, given the topic, but ... C-Sec? He couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"I never said that you shouldn't apply for the Spectres." Shepard's voice was low and intense. "Shit, I think you would make a great Spectre. But you also have to learn the rules before you can break them."

And that was it. "I _know_ the rules, Commander. I'm _turian_," he hissed, a little surprised at the tone he was using with her but too angry to care. "I spent my first fifteen years learning the 'right way to do things' from my father, nine more years in the military, and almost five working for C-Sec." Of course she knew all of that—it had been her Spectre status that had allowed him to count his time serving on the Normandy towards his fifteen years of civil service. But that was beside the point. "I'm _intimately_ familiar with the laws and jurisdictions of the Turian Hierarchy, the Citadel, Citadel Space as a whole, and even the codes of the Alliance Military." His eyes narrowed, and he pointed a single sharp talon at her. "So don't tell me that I need to learn the rules. My whole_ life_ until I met you was ... _rules_!" He didn't try to hide his disgust for the word.

"So what's wrong with the rules?" She seemed unnaturally calm in face of his frustration, though he supposed that she had seen enough angry krogan—including Wrex—to be able to hold her cool with him. She usually made a point of not restraining her reactions, though, making this scene almost eerie to witness.

"They don't work. I know that. We _both_ know that." She broke the rules for a living, after all. She couldn't claim to like the rules.

"But you listen to _me_," Shepard pointed out.

"And you don't listen to the rules!" he exclaimed. Spirits, why didn't she get it? "I agree with you, and you're getting things done, so I'll follow you. If I disagreed with you, I could have left. This isn't _my_ military."

This was usually the part of the conversation where she would stand, yelled at him for being out of line, and fiercely tell him exactly what he was going to do from now on. Garrus had seen her do it countless times with countless people they had met on assignments, Wrex, Ashley, and even him when he had protested Saleon's arrest.

"You also spent the last ten minutes calling me 'Commander' instead of 'Shepard', even though, you're right, this _isn't_ your military." She leaned forward in her seat. "You grew up with rules and military codes, and you're falling back on them guide your actions. I'm asking you to take those rule-obsessed turian instincts of yours and combine them with what you know about the rules being bullshit."

"That's racist," Garrus said bluntly, eyes narrowing.

Shepard's eyes widened. "Shit, I didn't mean to be," she stammered. She raised her hands in an almost defensive position, and Garrus realized that it was the first time he had ever actually seen her on the defensive. "I have nothing against turians. I was a military brat, okay? I grew up surrounded by a lot of people who served in the First Contact War. Those things stuck with me, even though I know better now."

"It's fine," he responded, softening. "My father isn't a fan of humanity. I grew up with a few misconceptions as well."

"For what it's worth, Garrus, I think you're a credit to your species." He laughed in response, and Shepard frowned. "I'm serious." Her tone was sharp at first, but she quickly eased up, trying so hard to be nice. "I've never gotten to know a turian as well as I've gotten to know you, and you've taught me a lot. You're a damn good soldier with a good head on your shoulders. I don't want to see that wasted."

Garrus felt bad for laughing, especially since her compliments were so rare. He would be lying if he said that her words hadn't warmed him at all. He remembered being mad at her a few minutes ago, but the feeling had somehow faded away. "I'm sorry for laughing, Shepard," he said, mandibles flaring impishly. "I just ... I'm not a very good turian. Don't judge my species based on what you've seen of me."

"You're more turian than you think, honestly," Shepard said, shrugging despite the seriousness of her tone. "You have the code and the honor, whether you think you do or not. The difference is that you see the flaws in the rules and you want to do something about it. That's a good thing. It's what makes you Garrus."

He tilted his head to the side a bit and crossed his arms. "I appreciate the sentiment, but we don't exactly value individuality the way you humans do."

She smirked. He would have been concerned if it weren't such a relief to see. "'You humans,' is it?"

It took Garrus a moment to realize exactly what she meant, but when he did, he felt himself backpedal as much as she had earlier. "...wait, I didn't mean it that way."

"It's fine, Garrus," Shepard said, shaking her head. How did she always manage to disarm him? It was part of what made her Shepard, he guessed. "We're both racist. It's no big deal. Everyone is."

"That's pleasant," Garrus commented, mandibles flaring in amusement. "Does this mean you're going to start calling me 'Turian,' and making fun of my pointy fringe?"

"I was planning on making fun of your bony ass, actually."

"Ouch," he laughed. "My ass is perfectly fine, thank you. It's not my fault that yours is so squishy."

"You calling me _fat_, Vakarian?" she asked, the sudden warning evident in her voice.

"No!" Garrus exclaimed. He knew that was a sore subject for humans, particularly for human women. Turians weren't concerned by weight, though they were vain about other parts of their appearance. "No, Comman—Shepard. You look good. Great, even."

There was another awkward silence as Shepard raised her eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. Garrus distantly realized that he had lost track of time. Whatever the duration, there was an amount of time that was simultaneously too short and too long until they faced Sovereign.

"You know," Garrus finally finished. "For a human."

"Are you calling me attractive?" Shepard asked, this time not warning him so much as she was surprised.

"I ... don't know, actually," he admitted. He knew a few turians with human fetishes, and had to admit that the concept seemed a bit weird. They weren't unattractive, he supposed. They looked like asari, actually, and half of the galaxy had an asari fetish—he didn't, but he did admit that asari could be nice to look at.

He was beginning to see how humans could be attractive, perhaps from spending a lot of time with them. Kaidan had been quite the specimen, if Ashley could be trusted with such information, and he could see how the biotic could be more attractive than Pressly, for instance. Likewise, he had heart that the Commander was actually considered quite beautiful amongst her species, if only because her coloring was somewhat rare in humans. He supposed she must have been in good physical shape as well, like anyone in active service, though her weight or ... lack of weight wasn't a huge concern to him.

"I guess the best way to describe you would be exotic," Garrus continued, carefully watching her expression to make sure she didn't get offended. "I don't look at humans and think of them as attractive, necessarily, but I can identify individuals within your species that would be more or less attractive than others. So you _are_ attractive—for a human."

"I ... thanks." Shepard awkwardly rubbed at her neck.

"You asked," he pointed out, a little guilt for provoking that reaction in her. "Did I make you uncomfortable? I can take it back if that helps."

She snorted. "Never do that. That's even worse."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She inhaled and glanced sideways, at one of the picture frames she had on her desk. From this angle, he couldn't see the contents of the photo. "I'm not a big fan of being praised, that's all."

"But you deserve every bit of it," Garrus said. "You're the Hero of—"

"Don't quote my resume, Garrus. I know what I've done." She looked back at him, an unreadable look in her eyes. "I think I've mentioned before that my mom is the XO of an Alliance dreadnought. You don't do that by just being good at what you do. Well, like mother like daughter. Like you, I had a lot of expectations placed on me, and was always told _exactly_ how a 'good' soldier behaved." She scoffed. "I got a little sick of the rules, too."

He nodded. Even if Shepard hadn't discussed it with them before, some of her mother's credentials had appeared in the files he had read during his investigation. "So they pressured you to be as good?"

Shepard laughed mirthlessly. "And it worked. I'm the fucking Hero of the Skyllian Blitz." She shook her head. "They praised me for risking my life, but hell, was I just going to stand by and let a bunch of innocents get killed by raiders? Shit no. That wasn't me following the rules: it was me being good at my _job_. I saw openings and I took them. I wasn't trying to be a big damn hero, but here I am. A big damn hero."

She suddenly stood up. Garrus instinctively moved to stand as well, but Shepard shook her head and motioned for him to stay seated. Instead, he watched her cross the room and position herself against a wall, leaning back and folding her arms.

"You know, I knew the Butcher of Torfan from basic," she said. Garrus wanted to be annoyed by her fascination with bringing up the Butcher whenever they discussed her own achievements, but opted not to interrupt her. "His name's Vince Morris. He's a survivor from Mindoir. Now there was a damn good soldier. One of the best biotics I've ever met." She smiled nostalgically. "Of course, he was reckless as shit. Death could happen at any time, so why not take down as many people as you could while you were at it? And he didn't care what he had to do to win, as long as he won."

"He sounds ... dangerous," Garrus commented. "And a little crazy." His mandibles flared. "Reminds me of you, actually."

"He should," Shepard admitted. "I looked up to him."

"Really?" Garrus asked, not even trying to mask his shock. Of course Shepard would have had a mentor of sorts, but one who was in basic with her? And who, more importantly, ended up leading one of the most controversial assaults in recent history?

"He was a good soldier who got results, and quickly," she explained. "And he was always focused on his missions, sometimes serious to the point of being painful. I figured it probably had something to do with flashbacks from Mindoir, but I never asked. Didn't want to." She paused for a moment, as if to consider something, then continued: "If someone was in his way, he shot. It was as simple as that. " She uncrossed her arms to stretch her right shoulder. "It's admirable—not necessarily moral, and definitely not what I had learned from Mom, but it _worked_. And isn't that what's most important in the end?"

"Of course," Garrus agreed. "If it's for a good cause, then of course."

Shepard shook her head. "It's funny," she started, but she didn't seem that amused, "I have the Star of Terra and people spit at him in the street. But we aren't so different, really."

"That's not true," he immediately protested. No, Shepard had morals. She wouldn't have made the same decisions at Torfan.

She looked at him strangely. "What makes you say that?"

"He sent three quarters of his squad to their deaths. I don't care how or why you did it, but you saved people _without_ any casualties." Garrus puffed up slightly. "That's what makes _him_ a Butcher, and _you_ a Hero."

"You don't approve of what he did?" Shepard asked. "He got the job done, even if it meant that people died. And soldiers, no less—people who signed up knowing that they could die at any moment."

"There's a difference between beating up a merc to get some answers and deciding that the soldiers in your command are cannon fodder," Garrus argued. "Allies are never expendable. And I know you agree because you're shaken up by the loss of a single squad member. A very important person, but just _one_."

She paused for a minute, frowning, and then sniffed. "You would have liked him. He would have let you kill Saleon." She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's why he did it, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Revenge," she stated. "That's why he was so hell-bent on taking the base. And why he shot the hell out of those batarians, even after they had surrendered. He wasn't on his orders. He was taking his nightmares about Mindoir out on a bunch of batarians who hadn't even been there, at the cost of his own squad."

"Then it was personal." Garrus shook his head. "Sloppy."

"You're criticizing Morris for acting out of a desire for revenge?" She raised her eyebrow. "Doesn't that remind you of a certain Salarian doctor?"

"I..." He hesitated. "Maybe I was more interested in _proving_ that I could stop Saleon than I was in actually stopping him. But I don't think you can compare those two cases." Garrus looked down. "You said it yourself, Mindoir messed him up. Revenge was _justified_ in his case. I just don't know if I would have gone to the same extremes."

"So let me get this straight," Shepard said, pushing off from the wall. Her eyes were gleaming with something human and unrecognizable. "You don't _actually_ want to sacrifice innocents to get the job done if there's a safer alternative." She pulled her chair away from her desk and placed it in front of Garrus. "But before, you said that you wouldn't have minded a few civilian casualties if it had meant stopping Dr. Saleon."

"People who would have been brutally tortured by his experiments!" Garrus argued.

"Versus people who were willing to die in order to prevent more batarians raids on human colonies." She sat in front of him, her elbows resting on her thighs.

"Torfan was a slaughterhouse. Maybe there wasn't a better way to do it. I keep telling you that I don't know what I would have done in his place. I just..." He trailed off and, suddenly very uncertain, growled in frustration.

"What are you thinking, Garrus?" Shepard asked.

"I don't know what I'm thinking," he admitted, rubbing at his face. "I'm confused. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I'm not so sure anymore."

"Can I ask a favor of you, then?"

Garrus stopped to look at her. She was staring back at him, her green human eyes sharp and intense. "_Anything_, Shepard," he answered, and he meant it.

Shepard nodded. "You know the rules," she said, her voice low and intense. "You understand why they exist, right? Even though they're bullshit?"

"To keep everyone under control," Garrus immediately answered. "To prevent chaos."

"Exactly." She sat up. "For every person like me, who plows through walls instead of opening doors, you need a countless number of people who do things by the books." Grinning, she explained: "You read those books and wrote a scathing review, but I would still trust you to tell me what the books say."

Garrus tilted his head. "What are you getting at?" he asked, a little suspiciously.

"I know you'd rather operate outside the rules, but you still know them, and a part of you still respects them." Shepard glanced down and picked at her nails. "You're frustrated. I understand. Hell, I got bitched out by my superiors for not obeying the rules too. But you don't unlearn C-Sec. You can't, no matter how hard you try."

He grunted. That, at least, was true.

"The Spectres are given the ability to operate outside the law, yes," she continued, looking back up at him. "They're given the freedom to tear up the red tape in order to solve problems. But what if you didn't have to tear up the red tape. What if you could just duck under it?" She paused for a moment, and then chuckled self-consciously. "This metaphor is going nowhere."

"I know the feeling," Garrus interjected.

"Then let's put it this way: even if you don't like the rules, C-Sec will reinforce them for you," Shepard said, and then glanced down. "Because being a Spectre doesn't mean mowing everyone down in your path. It means that you can bypass the legal bullshit that you hate so much in order to fix things. It's the alternative approach to the rules and regs of C-Sec and the military. But you already knew that." She looked up at him almost guiltily. "The Spectres aren't an organization of vigilantes. There _is_ a middle ground between C-Sec and a rain of bullets. And that's why I want you to go back to C-Sec. To reacquaint yourself with the other side of the coin." She sighed. "In the end, you'll make your own choices. But I've been giving you the wrong impression of what being a Spectre is supposed to mean."

"So ... you respect the rules, but you don't want to follow them yourself?" he asked, a little disbelieving.

"Shit, Garrus, you know me," she said, a smirk on her face. "Unless a _really obvious_ alternative presents himself, I'm not going to wait around to convince someone to surrender when a bullet to the head will solve the problem."

"And you think that's wrong." Garrus shook his head in frustration. "Do you know how hypocritical you sound? You can't tell me not to do something because it's wrong, then turn around and do it yourself."

"I told you, I'm no better than Morris," Shepard said, her tone sharp. "We could have switched places, and the same thing might have happened. But they asked _him_ to make the choices nobody else would have made, not me. Because I got the Star of Terra." She averted her eyes. "I looked up to him, Garrus. I know you look up to me. Don't become a Butcher too."

"You..." Garrus started, finding that the words were escaping him even as he tried to utter them. It should have been easy to remind her that she hadn't actually made the decisions that would have made her into a Butcher; that the thought of being the one in that position was as much a source of anxiety as knowing that she had modeled herself after the man who was. Shepard didn't like following the rules, yes, but she still had her morals. It was almost turian, when he thought about it. Granted, her disregard for the law would make her an even worse turian than him, but at least she always owned up to her actions.

He wanted to tell her how attractive a quality that was but, again, the words failed him.

"When you're a Spectre—" Shepard said, putting an end to yet another long silence with her low, firm voice, "and I do say _when_—I want you at my six. If I'm chaos, then you will be order." She snorted. "It sounds dumb, I know. That's how I've been thinking about it, and it stuck. The other option was 'good cop, bad cop,' but it seemed like it was bad taste, given the fact that we're actually talking about police work here."

He wanted to laugh, but he still wasn't sure what to make of any of this. "So you want me to join C-Sec ... so that I can be your moral compass?" He shook his head. "I don't know if I can be that. We think too similarly, Shepard."

"You looked down on the Butcher of Torfan for his actions. There's hope for you still."

"And you're afraid that you've become him," he said, finally finding voice to his earlier thought. "I'd say there's hope for _you_ still, too."

Shepard averted her eyes, as if she didn't have the heart to tell him that no, there wasn't. Once again, he decided not to press the issue.

"You don't have to break the rules to change the world," Shepard said after a long pause. "You can try bending them instead." She tilted her head. "Just give C-Sec a chance. I think you can make a difference."

It was hard not to listen to her when she was staring at him with a kind of conviction he had never seen in this otherwise tough and irreverent woman. And Spirits, when had she grabbed his hands? He hadn't even noticed her hands, despite the fleshiness and excess of fingers. Still, the sensation was a little soothing.

"You believe in me?" Garrus asked, and he hated how vulnerable he sounded.

"You've long since proven to me that I can," she responded, but the sincerity turned into a smirk, she dropped his hands, and suddenly they were back to normal. "Besides, I don't know anyone else in this squad who knows his way around a sniper rifle."

"Then you're using me, Shepard? I don't know whether I should be offended or flattered," Garrus joked.

"Don't feel so special," Shepard retorted. "I'm using _all_ of you. And the women are secretly just around because they're all pretty."

"Racist _and_ sexist? I'm stunned." His mind suddenly raced back to the table by the cargo bay, and he shook his head in frustration. "Spirits, I forgot! I was supposed to get you to join us downstairs. We set up a table and everything."

"A table?" she drawled. "Well, count me in." Seeing his uncertain expression, she grinned and stood. "I was kidding. Let's get down there before they die of boredom."

"Right behind you, Shepard. And..." Garrus looked down, feeling everything from grateful to confused to embarrassed. "Thank you. Again. For everything."

Shepard simply grinned.

They made they way towards the door, with Garrus stepping through first, followed by the Commander. Just as she crossed the threshold, however, Shepard paused and glanced back in.

"You know, I would have invited Kaidan into my quarters tonight," she said, staring into the big, empty, impersonal room. "I'm sure you can guess why."

Garrus quickly looked out into the mess to see if anyone was around to overhear this—fortunately, there wasn't. "Had he ever been in before?"

Shepard shook her head. "No, you were the first." He ignored the strange little puff of pride suddenly felt and listened to her as she continued: "The Alliance has a strict anti-fraternization policy, and we didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the mission." She laughed bitterly. "He didn't even say anything special to me before he died."

"I'm sure he didn't want to disrupt the channels, or distract you from reaching Ashley," Garrus argued.

She snorted, her wall of flippancy returning. "What was I even expecting, anyway? A declaration of love? 'Oh, Fiona, I wish we could have taken that shore leave together...' No. I would have yelled at him for it anyway."

"Fiona?" he asked. Garrus was perturbed by her use of the word "love," but he was more confused by the strange word she had just uttered. "What does that mean? I think my translator glitched."

Shepard looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Garrus. That's my first name. Fiona." She folded her arms. "Sorry, nobody calls me that but my parents, so don't start. It's just doesn't suit me. Too _delicate_."

"It's ... exotic," he admitted. It wasn't unpleasant, either.

"Like me?" She batted her eyes a bit. He wasn't sure what that facial expression was supposed to mean, but it certainly seemed unnatural for her to do.

"Shouldn't we be getting downstairs?" Garrus asked, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. She was never going to let him live that conversation down, was she?

"Yeah, it'll take five minutes with that elevator, anyway," Shepard said, pressing the button on the console, and shutting the door to her quarters. She shrugged. "I blame the turians for _that_ design flaw."

"Racist."

"You too."

* * *

Garrus was pretty sure that the conversation had been halting in his absence, but it was hard to tell. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Shepard called out: "What did I miss?" and it was as if awkward silence had never existed. The team straightened, greeting Garrus and Shepard with raucous hellos.

"Took long enough," Wrex commented with a sly krogan laugh. "Have fun up there?"

Garrus sputtered at the implications, but Shepard quickly came to the rescue with that shit-eating grin of hers. "No, but don't tempt me. I've always wanted to try it with a turian." If possible, her grin widened. "Think we have time before we hit the relay?" she offered him with a wink.

Before he had time to process any of that, she took the sixth chair at the head of the table, leaning forward as if to properly look at her crew. They each stared back, their faces showing their individual, alien expressions of approval, all signs of tension melting away in the presence of their brave and sometimes insane leader. It wasn't that they were incapable without her—though he sometimes wondered what would happen to all of them if she died. The table had simply been incomplete without her there, and now that she was, they could stop stewing in their grief and anxiety, and instead start living again.

Mandibles fluttering contentedly, he returned to the seat he had left earlier, the one at her right, just as she said: "It's time to share, kids. Let's start with the most challenging kills."

No matter the outcome of the mission or what happened in the aftermath—and he still wasn't sure if he could do what she asked of him—Shepard would lead them through.

He glanced down at his omni-tool. Three hours, twenty-five minutes until the end.


End file.
